Pony Boy

I could feel hands on my legs, my stomach, my biceps, not in a sexual way but testing my muscle tone.

"What odds are you giving?

"Eleven to ten on, at the moment. As I haven't seen him run I can't say fairer than that, can I?" Mr H answered.

"Eleven to ten, I'll take some of that." The hands stopped feeling my flesh and he came and stood very close in front me. "I'm going to put two hundred on that pretty little arse of yours," he whispered in my ear. "Bring it home for me and I might just...." A hand, presumably his, cuddled my balls and gently stroked my prick through its cage of straps.

And that was just the start of it. As the new kid on the block I got plenty of interest and, without any previous form to judge me on, it seemed like each and every one of them needed to feel my body so as to judge whether I would be able to perform. Unseen hands would feel my legs, my arms, my stomach. More that a few also had a good feel of my prick and balls, although I can't see how that would effect my performance.

"Ladies and gentleman," a voice came over the tannoy, "welcome to this evening's entertainment. As you can see from your race cards we have a knockout competition with sixteen starters. The first round of races will be held over four laps of the course. We'll be starting the first race in a few minutes and this will feature Thunderbolt pulling sulky one on the inside lane and Night Angel pulling sulky two on the outside. You've just a few more minutes until the betting closes so get your bets in now. Stewards, please arrange for the ponies to be brought to the start line."

I did a few sums in my head. The course was about fifty meters each way but you had to add a bit for the corners. I would guess that four laps would be about five hundred metres or a little over quarter of a mile. That's quite a way to pull a sulky.

Meanwhile the anticipation was mounting. I couldn't see a thing but I hardly needed to. There was a general rise in excitement and then the 'off'. The tannoy kept up a running commentary and, although Thunderbolt got away first, Night Angel pulled back during the fourth lap and snuck home. The din as they had come down the home straight was deafening.

"That'll do," I heard a voice say near to me. "I had five hundred on Night Angel."

"Lucky you. I had a couple of ton on Thunderbolt. How about this one?"

"Dunno, I mean, he's not as scrawny as the usual crew, he's not a smoker, either, so he should be fit. Doesn't mean he can run though. I wonder where 'Arold found 'im."

"Who cares if he can run as long as he can fuck. He's a pretty little thing, not like the usual scags we get here. Makes a change not to see track lines."

"So, do you fancy his pretty little lips wrapped around your prick then?"

"I fancy shagging that cute arse of his and if you tell me that you don't as well then I'm calling you a liar." As if to illustrate his point the speaker reached over and groped my arse cheek.

Meanwhile the ponies were being lined up ready for the second race, and then the third, the fourth and so on. With each race the moment of truth got closer. As they were going in numerical order it didn't take much to work out that I would be in the eighth race, which was fast approaching.

The sixth race was just finishing when I felt the hobble being removed from between my ankles. Then there was a jerk from the shafts of the sulky as, presumably, my jockey took his seat. I was still blindfolded but I could feel that the brakes had been taken off and the sulky was now free to move. I waited patiently until, as the seventh race got under way, someone took hold of the side of my bridle and led me forward.

As I followed blindly I could feel the plug in my bottom being pulled by the strap that ran between my thighs. It was easier if I moved in a stiff legged walk rather than striding out. At least my competitor was going to be handicapped in a similar fashion. There was another short wait while the seventh race ended and I could sense that sulky fifteen was being lined up beside me. Then the seventh race ended and we were led out onto the course.

When we were in position the blinkers were opened up and I could see again. Not that I could see much. It took a while before my eyes got used to the light and even then blinkers limited my vision. They were no longer acting as a blindfold but they still projected forward either side of my face, limiting my sight to straight ahead. I tried to turn my head sideways so as to check out my opponent but the hand holding my bridle was ready for this and my head was tugged sharply back again, causing the bit to tug at my lips quite painfully.

"This is the last race in round one and we have a brand new pony for you. Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce College Boy who is running for the first time tonight and is on the inside track pulling sulky sixteen. On the outside, pulling sulky fifteen, is your old favourite, Black Coffee."

There was cheering from the crowd. The hand holding my bridle let go and I looked up to see a man walk in front of us holding a flag. I heard the tannoy say "they're under starters orders and... they're off!" The man lowered the flag and, on my left, I sensed more than saw, sulky fifteen pulling ahead. I had completely missed the start. I felt something stinging against my buttocks. Evidently my jockey had some sort of whip and was using it to inform me that I ought to be running. I tugged at the shafts of the sulky, trying to get some traction and trying to catch Black Coffee who was already in front of me.

Once I got moving it wasn't that bad. I had to ignore the tugging coming from the plug in my backside but with every stride I took but the sulky was easy to pull and I was soon catching up with Black Coffee. I knew that holding the inside track around the bend at the end of the course was going to be crucial and I put everything I had into a burst of speed to ensure that he couldn't cut across me as we went into the bend.

The bend turned out to be much sharper than I had anticipated and I could feel the sulky slipping sideways behind me. It took every ounce of my strength to balance the opposing forces that tried to tip the sulky over and to throw it off the track. More by luck than good judgement I just managed to do so until, at last, we were on the back straight.

Now I could put my head down and go for it and I was gaining in confidence. I was still behind Black Coffee as we came out of the bend but it wasn't long before I had drawn level and my comparatively healthy lifestyle was beginning to bear fruit. I wasn't the world's keenest sportsman but plenty of afternoons were spent playing footie and I knew I could run and keep on running. I was well ahead by the next bend and I knew I could easily keep ahead of him so I began to pace myself. If I won this race, and it seemed that I ought to, then there would be another to follow, and, with a bit of luck, another to follow that.

By the time we got to the fourth lap I was almost lapping Black Coffee and decided to come home with a bit of class. I put my head up and trotted home, mimicking the high kneed gait of a real pony. I certainly got a lot of cheers from the stands even if my backside did complain.

If there had been a lot of interest in me before it was nothing compared to when I was led back into the centre enclosure. My jockey got plenty of congratulations which I thought was a bit rich. All he had done was sit there. I had worked out the race tactics myself. I was led back to the line of sulkies and, once again parked up. Fortunately this time, my blinkers were left open.

My jockey left only to return a few moments later with a bottle of water, a sponge, a bucket and a pile of towels. He manoeuvred the mouth of the bottle past the bit of my bridle and gave a good squeeze so I could take a well needed drink. Then he sponged me down, letting the cool water run down my body before towelling me off. Ostensibly this was to supposed to reduce the effects of the racing but it was also all about pampering a winning pony. I felt like a boxer resting in his corner. The strap between my thighs and the plug stuck up my arse would both take their toll in time but, right then, right there I felt fine.

I had just got the taste for winning. Sure, the circumstances were beyond bizarre, but the elation of crossing the line first, along with the cheers of the punters, had been a heady brew, one I wished to taste again. I didn't need to be ordered to do my best to win. I was going to do so anyway.

Quite a crowd had gathered around me and, slightly to my relief, in amongst them was Mr H. I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover but most of the punters looked like very shady types. East End gangsters each and every one of them. I began to appreciate what Mr H had said about cheating; these guys looked like they had their own ways of dispensing justice and I wouldn't want to be on their bad side. Slightly to my surprise the punters weren't all men. Here there was the occasional woman but they were mostly arm candy, there to make their partner look good.

"So where did you find this one," one of the spectators asked Mr H.

"That would be spoiling the mystery," Mr H replied with a laugh.

"He's certainly got more class than the rest of 'em."

"And he can run too," cut in another.

"Who is up against next?"

"He's racing Stretford Lad. He's ten to one on favourite," Mr H replied.

"Ten to one on? That's hardly worth betting on."

"Yeah, but this boy can run and I've got to make a profit, haven't I? Anyway, maybe you'll find the odds for which round of the tournament he'll get to more to your liking."

At that point the guy who had told me before the race that he was going to bet two hundred on me came pushing through the crowd.

"Can I spot 'em or can I spot 'em!" he said triumphantly. "Knew you were a dead cert, as soon as I set eyes on you!"

He came up to me and, as one hand reached down for my balls the other pulled me into him and he hugged me long and hard, kissing my cheek as he did so. I could tell he would be kissing my mouth, tongue and all, if the bit had not been in the way.

"Come 'ere my little beauty. You walked all over 'im." He said and I nearly choked on the beery fumes coming from his mouth.

"OK, Baz, that's enough," Mr H called out and, slightly reluctantly, Baz let me go. However, he told me to open wide and, before he left, he poked two twenties past the bit in my mouth.

"I'm going to fuck you later, I'll fuck you 'till you scream for mercy, you see if I don't," he said with a big smile on his face.

"College Boy is not ready for stud yet. He's for racing only," Mr H said firmly. Meanwhile my jockey removed the notes from my mouth and handed them to Mr H.

"What do you mean, not ready for stud. If ever I saw a pony who was ready for stud it's this one."

"Sorry, gents, it's part of the contract. Now, if you're all quite ready, it's time for the next round of races and I'm sure you'll all be wanting to watch College Boy in race four."

People started to drift away, some towards the refreshment tables, some towards the bookie's stalls and some to inspect the other ponies. Although quite a few stayed in my general area, for the first time since the blindfold had come off I had a chance to relax and have a good look around. There were now eight of us ponies left in the races and we were all lined up ready to go. To keep the racing fair the harnesses were identical and, by looking at the next pony along, I could see now how the harness used the strap which ran up the arse crease to hold the tail in such a way that it appeared to come from the base of the spine and look more realistic than projecting straight our of the anus. Each pony also had his prick strapped up in the same way that I did, the pale flesh standing out starkly against the dark leather 'V' over the groin.

I suppose I should have found it all a bit kinky, sordid even, but actually even these lads from the streets had a certain grace about them as they stood tall and proud between the shafts. I'd never really looked at guys in this way before but I could see how they were, dare I say it, beautiful. I thought about the recent Olympics and how I had been enthralled by the grace and beauty of the athletes bodies and, while these ponies were no Olympians, there was something about them that appealed to the same senses.

And then the races restarted. I watched the first two with interest. This second round was over six laps, not four but, even so, having the inside lane gave quite a significant advantage as it was quite a bit further around the outside of the corners. If you were going to overtake then it was best to do it on one of the straights so as to be into the corner in time to cut your rival off from that vital inside lane. I was in the third race and, after my easy victory in the first round, there was quite a bit of interest in me.

My opponent went off like a rocket but I knew better than that. I let him get ahead, not too far ahead, but enough to let him do all the work. My jockey just saw that I was behind and was working his whip against my buttocks which stung and annoyed rather than really hurt. Then, with two laps to go, I reached for the reserves I knew I had but hoped that my opponent didn't. Even so, I timed it badly and hadn't got all the way past him which meant that I had to run all the way around the outside of the bend before storming down the straight. A significant portion of the crowd were calling for me. "College Boy! Come on College Boy!" This seemed to lift me and I charged into the next bend almost too fast and I could feel the sulky starting to tip. I fought with the shafts and managed to get it back under control. Then, with only one lap to go, I gave it all I had, leaving my opponent standing and storming over the line. God it felt so good!

Now there was a real buzz about the place and I was the centre of it all. I'd never been the focus of attention like this and I'll admit that I was lapping it up. I had totally forgotten about my fears. I was king of the race course, winning and loving every minute of it. I was led back into the centre enclosure with people slapping my back and, once again, congratulating my jockey on his tactics. As my jockey sponged me down we were the centre of quite a crowd and more than a few had been betting on me. Even at the crazy odds, they had made money and I picked up quite a bit in tips which they would tuck into my belt or put in my mouth. My jockey was collecting all this up ready to hand over to Mr H.

That left four of us for the third round, the semi finals. I was two races away from winning. The fact that I was basically naked in front of all these people was now irrelevant, I was winning! I glanced across and, of course, one of the other three was Jed. With us both wearing blinkers I couldn't see his eyes but I knew that my winning must rankle. 'Suffer, you bastard,' I thought to myself. There's a new kid in town and I'm it.

And, as luck would have it, in the next round, it was Jed, or Dark Arrow to call him by his pony name, that I was up against. The number of laps had been increased to eight and it was going to be quite a long haul to the finish line. I reckoned that suited me. Jed was strong, I had no doubts about that, but I had the stamina and, before the end of the race I would reel him in. I had no fears, I was on fire, I was unbeatable! Bring it on!

I had the inside lane and, as we set off, I knew I could keep it into the first corner. Jed had pulled maybe half a length ahead but that didn't worry me. I knew I had it over a smoker like Jed. What I wasn't ready for was the way that every time I got close he would cut across me, forcing me into the barrier and, to prevent a crash, my jockey had to pull me back quite sharpish which ruined my rhythm and hurt my mouth where the bit cut into the corner of my lips. I came back at him down the straight and, to my delight, he'd left a gap on his inside. I could use it to overtake him, to go the shorter route but, just as I went for it, just as I steamed into the gap suddenly it wasn't there any more. At the last moment he'd closed it off and, once again, my jockey had to pull me back. At the next corner the same thing happened, and again, and again. I was fuming, determined not to lose this race so, as we came to the last but one I stormed down after him but, instead of going for the inside, I went the other way. I could hear the crowd screaming at me, "Come on, College Boy! Come on, you can do it!"

They say that pride comes before a fall. Jed had already shown me that he was the master of tactics and now, through my own stupidity, I'd let my anger hurl me into the corner far too fast. I fought with the shafts of the sulky, trying to keep it upright and we were all but there when my foot slipped. The sulky went over, taking me with it. With my wrists locked to the shafts there was nothing I could do to protect myself and, tangled up in the sulky, I crashed heavily into the barricading.

I lay there gasping, wondering whether I had broken a rib or something but that was nothing compared to the pain of knowing I had been run off the race track by Jed. Maybe I wouldn't be literally sucking his prick but, lying in a heap on the racecourse I felt as humiliated as if I were doing.

I was helped to my feet and led back into the centre enclosure in stony silence. Not only had I lost but so had quite a few of the punters. There had been quite a lot of money riding on me and I was suddenly no longer flavour of the month. Mr H came hurrying over but, secretly, I knew he was delighted. Ask any bookie whether they want the favourite to crash and burn.

There was no drink, no bucket and no sponge this time. Mr H and my jockey quickly checked me over and, once it was clear that there were no broken bones, I was led away to the back of the central enclosure along with the rest of the losers. We may have finished racing but we weren't to be freed. Not only were we all still dressed as pony boys but we were also all still attached to our respective sulkies and, to cap it all, the hobble was refitted. We couldn't talk, we couldn't walk, so we just hung around, lined up in a row, waiting.

I was staring despondently at the floor when a voice beside me said "I lost quite a bit of money on you."

I looked up and there was a guy standing there. Every inch of him, from the immaculate shine on his shoes, the razor sharp crease in his chinos, the silk shirt open to the third button and the jacket which was slung casually over his shoulder, spoke of style, lots of style. He was fit and strong but not in the same way as some of the gorillas that lurked around the place. He knew how to look after himself but he didn't earn his money doing so.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he said gently and he reached out and stroked the bruise in my side where I had collided with the barricade. I winced as his fingertips brushed the broken flesh but that was secondary to a very different tempest that was playing inside me. In any other circumstances I would have run a million miles should a man offer me such a caress but, broken and vulnerable as I was, this tenderness spoke to me and I felt my whole body respond. He was standing so close that I could smell the crisp clean linen scent of his clothes. I leant my head forward and laid it on his shoulder. His hand, his strong, capable hand, stroked my side. This wasn't a grope like all the others, this was the caress of a lover. I wanted him to gather me in, to hold me, to comfort me, to care fore me, to lo.... Was I really thinking that? The emotional roller-coaster was making my head spin. I was lost and confused, all alone in this warehouse full of crazy.